The Night The Laundry Arrived
by BarkingatJim
Summary: I've pondered on a certain item of James West's clothing and it gave me no pleasure so I decided to provide a solution acceptable to me. Just a quick one that took me an hour to write.


**The Night the Laundry Arrived**

 _Aboard the Wanderer – location undisclosed_

"James m'boy, I've just been to collect the laundry."

"What do you think you're doing, Artie, you know that's my job?" It was obvious that the best agent in the Secret Service was not happy. "And what's that behind your back?"

"Great jumping balls of St Elmo's fire, Jim, what in hell's name are these?" Artie asked, producing a large, dazzlingly white pair of underpants and dangling them in front of his partner's nose.

Jim tried to snatch them away but Artie raised them above his head and then hid them behind his back again. "Oh no you don't!" he said. "I'm keeping hold of the evidence."

"I don't know what you mean," Jim said, suddenly nonchalant, though his mind was racing for an explanation. "Evidence of what? It's just someone else's garment that got mixed in with our laundry, that's all."

"Nice try, Jim, but I happen to have scrutinised them pretty closely. I believe the name in them, James West, is one familiar to you?"

Jim sat down with a bump and swallowed the fear rising in his throat. He always insisted on presenting a calm exterior, electric chairs excluded. "Okay, what do you want to know?" he asked.

"Why, Jim, Why?" Artie asked. You have the exterior of a gentleman about town though, now I think about it, you do look a little like a matador but we'll let that pass. You dress in the finest clothes and smoke the best cigars. You even have your own private conveyance. So why do you insist on wearing such abominable nether garments?"

Jim rubbed his hands together, but not in the way that Doctor Loveless had of doing it, with glee, but as a man up against it, preparing to bear his soul.

"Do you remember when we came up against Colonel Torres?"

"The Iron Man of crime," Artie said. "Yes I remember him. Those underpants don't belong to him do they? They're certainly big enough."

"No they don't and stop being so rude about them!"

"I'm just saying….."

"Well don't!"

"What about Torres?" Artie asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"Well, when we un-hypnotised Nina Gilbert she was pretty upset."

"I remember. Carry on!"

"And she threw all of those things at us, ornaments and books and things…."

"Yes, I did wonder at the time why we had all those things on the Wanderer but they're gone now so it doesn't really matter."

"But it does," Jim persisted. "One of those books hit me square on…on…."

"The chin? The nose? The head? What? Spit it out, Jim!"

"A sensitive area."

"Not that rash you have on your…?"

"No, it hit me on my intimate parts."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't seem to have done any permanent damage …. Has it?"

"No, of course not. But it did make me realise how vulnerable I am in that area and I do get into a few fights."

"That's the understatement of the year."

"Anyway, I contacted Washington and they sent me a consignment of Government-issue reinforced underwear."

"What are they reinforced with?" Artie asked, inspecting the offending garment.

"Nothing at the moment," Jim said. I keep the reinforcement in a drawer in my sleeping quarters. The pants are extra large to make room for it and they have a secure button up pouch. That's all."

"Is that all?" Artie said. "In that case I can construct something far more appealing in a knitted fabric, similar to my own renowned underpantage."

He twirled the underpants around using the index finger of his left hand, surveying them with disdain. Jim grabbed them as they moved into his orbit and stealthily rammed them into the inside pocket of his jacket, dislodging the small colt he had placed there earlier.

"That would be fine," Jim said. "Now can we change the subject?"

"Yes," Artie said, producing a pair of leather chaps and waving them at his partner. "I found these in your room…."

"You have no right to…."

"When I was putting your laundry away. Please promise me you are not thinking of wearing these abominations."

"Well it's just that all that horse-riding…"

"Hear that? It's my Great Aunt Maude turning in her grave. Do you know what she would say?"

"No, but I suspect I'm about to find out. Do illuminate."

Just then a message started to come through over the telegraph and whatever she had to say just had to wait for another day.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

THE END


End file.
